


Incoordination

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crack, M/M, P&P and sticky interfacing/sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was inspired by a Speedwriting prompt a couple of weeks ago, “Too much or not enough.” However, since I’ve worked on it on and off since then it hardly qualifies as a speedwriting fic!</p><p>Because of extracurricular activities Long Haul, as Devastator’s co-ordinator, has much trouble getting his team-mates to focus on what they are supposed to be doing – especially Scavenger.</p><p>*Warnings* for sticky, explicit mechsmut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incoordination

Long Haul was at the point of despair.

He could not work out whether the state of his team mates was due to their having too much of what they’d been getting recently, or not enough.

All Long Haul did know was that if Devastator screwed up this time, there’d be hell to pay from Megatron.

 _Why me_? Long Haul grumbled, as Devastator lurched along, his footsteps thudding heavily on the crunching gravel. The dump truck’s coordination relays were barely holding together the bunch of thoroughly un-coordinated mechs. _Why did I have to end up coordinating this lot? Why couldn’t I be an arm or a leg…._

_….or preferably, somewhere else altogether? Anything would be better than this. And Primus – I shouldn’t even be worrying about it. That’s Scrapper’s job!_

But Scrapper wasn’t focusing either. Lost in plans and strategies, Devastator’s right leg moved almost on autopilot, as designs for machines and intricate structures cascaded through the Constructicon leader’s processor. They were brilliant of course, and part of Long Haul was filled with admiration. But if only he could have just a little help….

Because the others …

Devastator stumbled. Long Haul grimaced. “Pick it up, Hook,” he growled. “That was your fault. Look where you’re going!”  

But the crane didn’t even answer. Primus! At least Scrapper’s processor was filled with – well – constructive things. Not so the crane. No, Hook seemed unable to mould coherent thoughts at all – except for one topic: the excavator who was currently folded into Devastator’s right arm.

And Scavenger wasn’t helping. Even as Long Haul chastised Hook, he would not shut up about his newfound passion, the ‘activities’ in which he and Hook had been so arduously indulging, ever since they two of them discovered they didn’t hate each other quite so much after all – or even if they did, that fragging at every opportunity was – apparently – the way to overcome even the worst ill feeling.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” Scavenger wittered over the bond. “It was awesome, Hook. I just – can’t! _You_ were awesome. I really wanna do it on the medberth again ….”

Devastator’s left arm flailed; and then, Scavenger couldn’t help it, Long Haul nearly screamed in exasperation as desire overrode the gestalt coordination and the arm bent at the elbow, fingers plucking at the back of Devastator’s helmet.

Predictably a deep groan sounded from Devastator, as the behemoth ‘lost it’ altogether and stumbled harder, shuddering as an energy flare burst from the head component, rushing through every circuit and synapse.  Electricity crackled loudly, sparks showering out liberally from numerous transformation seams.

“Awesome!” jabbered Scavenger, his own mini overload sending more energy roaring through the behemoth’s circuits. More crackles followed as the scent of ozone filled the clear Earth air.

Mixmaster, still under the influence from his indulgences the night before, cackled loudly, Devastator’s left foot giving a little ‘kick’ out to one side.  Meanwhile, Bonecrusher roared; the left fist punched the air in appreciation. “Oohhh YEAH!” he yelled. “Go you guys. Can’t wait till later!”

“Bwaggghh! Get your ACTS together!” Long Haul could barely contain his frustration. With a huge effort, he brought them back into synchrony; but expended so much energy that now he felt quite weak.

“Scrapper!” he snapped. “Assistance required!” And this time the leader, jolted into reality by the energy surges _, finally_ managed to extricate himself from the fascination of his designs enough to compensate for the others – at least so that Devastator could keep going.

“Shall I do that again?” Scavenger was giggling.

“NO, YOU SHALL NOT!” Long Haul thundered. In fact, “Stop. Everybody – STOP!”

“What’s the p-p-problem, mech?” Mixmaster cackled, stones and dust flying up as Devastator ground to a halt.

................

Scavenger supposed he had overstepped the mark a bit, but it was fun. And Hook hadn’t minded. Far from it! Nevertheless, Devastator’s head component had shut himself off from the excavator’s attentions temporarily, as Long Haul and Scrapper – who was hardly in a ‘switched on’ mood himself, attempted to give them all a ‘lecture.’

“Now look,” Long Haul was growling. “We gotta start acting like a team, and not like a rabble of hungover partygoers flung together for a cheap thrill.”

 _Why? That’s pretty much it!_ Scavenger giggled to himself, still high from the overload – and he could tell from the stifled mirth filtering from elsewhere through the gestalt coding that he wasn’t alone in thinking it. But he knew better than to antagonize the dump truck, who would give him grief for the next half vorn if he wasn’t careful.

“Scrapper?” Long Haul growled.

“Indeed,” Scrapper agreed, now back in ‘leadership’ mode. “Constructicons, listen to Long Haul! He doesn’t enjoy talking out of Devastator’s aft any more than I do. Now – Scavenger? You will refrain from providing _far too much information_ about your activities last night and the rest of you will act like the Decepticon warriors we are supposed to be when we are not building things. _Do I make myself clear?”_

There were murmurs and mumblings from all but Scavenger, whose thoughts were again wandering, as he struggled not to rise up and touch Devastator’s helm. Because Hook’s attention was wavering too – oh yes, Scavenger could tell. Hook was trying hard to be his 'aloof and ambivalent' self – but it would only take one little touch to set the crane off again with delicious memories of what had happened in the medbay.

Scavenger could not help – he _just could not help_ \- reliving it again. The game they played, he and Hook. Him turning up with a ‘terrible and inexplicable pain in his tail.’ Hook ‘examining’ him; hands exploring his shovel, roving up and down the shaft, skilled fingers checking out the joints, feeling around where the device connected to his back ….

....finding the tail to be in ‘perfect working order,’ but the absolute necessity of ‘extending the examination’....

....Hook’s hands running over other bits of him – _everywhere._ His hot mouth over Scavenger’s seams. The slow and painstaking opening of his interface panels; then - _the connection._ And that was somewhat more intense than the usual ‘medical link up’ because – well – Scavenger’s systems were ‘delicate,’ and warranted ‘close examination’....

....his innards nearly exploding as nodes and relays were skilfully massaged; the charge, surging, swelling his circuits like a tide; the _kiss_ – though that was strictly to test his ‘physiological reaction’, of course; especially Hook’s glossa flicking at the back of his throat....

Somewhere in the distance, Scrapper was still _going on_. But Devastator’s right arm flailed helplessly, the fingers clutching at air. The rest was just too divine to describe!

....pinned by his wrists to the medberth, the crane’s weight on him, the cranehook clanking against his side. The husky arousal in Hook’s voice, the scent of ozone; Hook saying ‘I think we need to extend this examination _just_ a little further’....

....his feet being placed in the stirrups, the throbbing ache inside. The fingers in his valve, feeling, stretching. The long, smooth spike easing in. The deep satisfaction as the spike probed and through the other connection energy pulses bathed his systems in perfect unison with the crane’s thrusts. Hook moved faster, penetrating further.

And _then,_ Hook had....

“SCAVENGER!” This time it was both Scrapper and Long Haul who barked their extreme disapproval. “If you don’t pull yourself together I will detach Devastator’s right arm and he will proceed into emergency one-armed practice today. _Do you understand?”_

Scavenger knew Scrapper meant it. And although a deep rumble signified the wholesale and unmistakable amusement – not to mention arousal - of the others, it was almost imperceptible. They knew what was good for them.

Why was Scavenger the only one who thought it was all right to turn this into fun?

“Understood,” he said, bringing himself to rest with the hand on Devastator’s hip, as far away from the head component as was possible; just as Mixmaster could contain himself no longer and burst into raucous laughter – bringing more reprimands from their leader.

Maybe Scavenger wasn’t _quite_ the only one....

................

The gestalt program rebooted with a sharp jolt, as Devastator started off again. Thank Primus. “Now – WHO ARE WE?” Long Haul prompted. “Let’s get some spirit into this thing – then we can get it over with and all go home!”

“D-E-V-A-S-T-A-T-O-R!” The combined voices rang out, echoing through the rocky surrounds.

But it did not fail to mask the unmistakeable whisper which rippled through the connection from Hook to Scavenger:

_“Later, sexytail …”_

Long Haul gritted his denta. By the time this was finished, HE would need a drink. He only hoped that Mixmaster had some left over.


End file.
